Robin
by JackOwens1860
Summary: Batman and Robin conduct their usual investigations into bad people. Bruce's thoughts on his partner and their role in his mission. Bruce's POV
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Which Robin? Take a wild guess.**

**Robin**

At times, patrols develop certain patterns. Criminal activity on the streets can become predictable. Degenerate actions can turn repetitive. All these elements create a false sense of security concerning my work. There is a distinct tendency to disconnect from the situation and let muscle memory take over. I counter this risk of laxity by using my partner. I try to always imagine Robin as being in danger, even though this is seldom true; the boy is extremely capable. By having to constantly consider the boy's safety, my mind is kept both focused and sharp on the threat before me. Continually altering my proximity to him also assists in avoiding complacency. And, the obvious added bonus of adopting such an outlook is that, were Robin in any real danger, I would be able to act far more swiftly in his rescue. I have never told the boy this. I assume he would be upset by his role of 'damsel in distress' in my mind; he is closing on sixteen now and clings fiercely to his independence.

At present, we are engaged in our current investigation. A new masked criminal has emerged in Gotham and is already responsible for two high-profile homicides. Dubbing himself The Black Talon, this anonymous individual has brutally executed both a former D.A, Fredrick Mitchum, and former police chief, Samuel Hennessey. In effort to gather enough information to locate this assassin, the boy and I have taken to The Narrows seedier dives and barrooms. We aim to interrogate sufficient numbers tonight to bring about the investigation's end. The city's emergency rooms will be full this evening.

When we enter a notorious establishment named The Blue Bird, infamous for drawing only the city's most dangerous degenerates, I am confident of success. The room is full tonight. Our arrival has an immediate impact on the conversation: it stops. All eyes are now fixed on us. Even though most of them are habitual murderers and possess flammable temperaments, none of them move from their positions. They are scumbags, but not stupid. I am aware several pairs of eyes are leveled on the boy. They are regarding him with something akin to lust and I find myself instinctively interposing my body between their twisted gazes and my partner. I know the boy is both too quick and skilled to become a victim, but I am still wary of sheer numbers and were I to be overrun…

Enough of this; time to make my point.

"The Black Talon. What do you know? Tell me and I will leave." I announce in my dark growl. My audience are still mute, continuing to stare.

"You guys deaf or just stupid?" Robin is quick to add with his usual smile. "The big guy is offering you a pretty sweet deal here…"

"You're a pretty sweet deal, kid! Come sit on my knee and I'll give you some candy!" An anonymous voice shouts from the back of the room. A collective roar of laughter follows. I find such comments sickening. The boy is unfazed. As unfortunate as it is, Robin is used to such remarks nowadays.

"Fine. Your funeral." The boy offers as a retort. He is still smiling. It is at this juncture the assembled mass has found enough courage to move towards us. I count forty to forty-five potential attackers to contend with. These numbers are not even close to being sufficient against us.

Once I drop a smoke pellet and switch to thermals, the ease with which this situation can be negotiated is startling. Robin and I attack in tandem at first, just to cut down the numbers. The sequence we use has been practiced many hundreds of times in the cave and honed on the streets for many years: I block, he attacks, he blocks, I attack, we both block and both attack, throw in a joint aerial maneuver and then begin the sequence all over again. We maintain this hard-acquired battle rhythm for almost three complete cycles of the sequence before breaking off into individual efforts. Attacking together has eliminated twenty of our opposition and forced a further eight to surrender or simply flee. This leaves us with just a cluster of thugs to contend with, roughly six or seven each.

Again, to focus myself, I make the boy the centre of attention and work under the notion he is becoming overrun. This manufactured sense of urgency increases my adrenalin levels, gifting me with an extra boost of both speed and power. Riding this wave of heightened form, I dispatch four of them at once, two by way of pin-point accurate nerve strikes, one with my left elbow and the other courtesy of my right foot. The remaining number shrinks back, making my task even simpler. I utilize their fear and drop another smoke pellet. Staggering round in the cloud intensifies their anxiety. As a consequence, they end up hitting one another, injuring themselves and saving me the trouble. Whoever does not hit the ground immediately receives a batarang to the base of the skull, rendering them unconscious. By the time the smoke has dispersed, they are all down.

Robin stands completely unharmed in the aftermath, a tribute to his skill and conditioning. He offers me a sly wink before giving the thumbs up gesture with his right hand. I nod in acknowledgement and wave him over. Directly at my feet is a man named Dill Patterson, repeat offender and often guest at Blackgate Penitentiary. He is a man who knows things in this city, useful things. Unfortunately, for him, he does not have a reputation as an informant. It is up to Robin and myself to make him one.

"You must be getting dizzy by now, huh?" The boy says to Patterson with a grin. My partner is in the midst of teasing a man currently suspended three hundred feet above the ground by way of a thin line of braided rope. I am the only thing anchoring Patterson. Although he is still defiant, in a moment, I am sure Patterson will change his mind.

"My arms are getting tired. Robin, take over." I say. This provokes a rather panicked response from Patterson.

"What? Are you freaking crazy? The kid's half my goddamn size! He'll never be able to hold me!"

"He's right, Boss. What if my fingers slip?" The boy asks, feigning concern. Even after all these years, he still likes to play games. Robin possesses more than enough upper body strength to hold a man twice Patterson's size for an extended period. The boy's leanness gives the illusion of a lack of strength. We use it to our advantage frequently. I shrug.

"We'll say he fell. Nobody would argue."

"Okay! Gimme the rope, big guy!"

Patterson is now objecting wildly to Robin's involvement. I pass the rope over to him. The boy lets it run slightly before taking a firm grip, causing Patterson to drop down by at least six inches.

"Try to be careful, Robin." I say with a sigh.

"Sorry, Boss. This guy's been hitting the donuts pretty hard judging by how damn heavy he is. I'm struggling to hold him." Robin allows a further foot of rope to pass through his fingers. Patterson is now in frenzy.

"TAKE THE DAMN ROPE, BAT FREAK! THE KID'S GONNA GET ME KILLED!"

"Unless you tell us something, I may just let him." I say without humour. Patterson is on the verge of speaking, he just requires a little more encouragement. My partner is more than happy to help him find his voice.

"Nnghh! Jeez this is getting hard quickly! It's no good, Boss; my grip's gonna give." The boy drops an inch of rope, followed by four and then three to give the impression he is fighting to keep Patterson suspended. The man is screaming at this point, yelling unintelligible phrases that may or may not be prayers to a higher power. Robin glances over at me and shrugs his shoulders. He's asking me whether or not he has pushed Patterson too far and has thus ruined the possibility of useful intelligence coming forth. I nod to tell him we are at just the right level to extract his secrets. He offers me a pleased smile.

"ANTHONY MARGHETTA! HIS NAME'S ANTHONY MARGHETTA!" We hear Patterson shrieking to us over and over again. Now it is my turn to smile. We have a lead, perhaps a solid one. This is good news.

"And where do we find Mr. Marghetta?" My partner inquires, choosing to maintain a steady grip on the rope at this stage, seeing as Patterson is finally co-operating.

"GOTHAM HEIGHTS! THE GUY'S GOT AN APARTMENT IN GOTHAM HEIGHTS! PULL ME UP FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

"Got to do better than that, big boy. Where exactly in Gotham Heights? Give us an address." Robin says. The boy loves interrogation. And, I must admit, he has developed quite a talent for it in his tenure. The fact he enjoys forcibly extracting information is somewhat disconcerting, but interrogation of this sort is still a world away from torture. Robin will never let himself stray too far from the rules, otherwise there would be no-one to keep me in check. True darkness is surprisingly easy to fall into if you have no guiding light. The boy acts as my guiding light. He does an admirable job.

Patterson has given an address. As a reward for this co-operation, we leave him strung up outside the GCPD building alongside a digital copy of CCTV footage linking him to a still unsolved robbery in South Gotham. I estimate he will receive at least a two-year sentence for the crime, considering it was conducted with firearms. Regardless, he is once again off the streets. It will be in his own interest not to contest the charges brought against him. He will no doubt be branded an informant by his underworld brethren once word of our 'conversation' spreads around certain circles. In many ways, we have done him a favour. Thanks are NOT necessary.

As we drive towards the address, my partner checks the supplied name against several criminal databases. It is unsurprising that the boy finds a viable record almost immediately. Anthony Marghetta has a history of firearm and homicide charges that do not showcase a particularly broad range of talents. He recently completed a four-year sentence in Blackgate for minor gun-trafficking infringements and has seen his parole officer in the last week. At first glance, the jump from typical thug to atypical assassin seems like a gap too far for someone of Marghetta's character to bridge. The only miscellaneous point of interest is his current address. Marghetta does not have the type of funds necessary to support his present living arrangements. Gotham Heights is a highly affluent area to house a common criminal. It points to a possible private benefactor. We will need to investigate this further. Moments later, we arrive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Robin 2**

**Author's Note: Guessing games are over. The answer's obvious and revealed in the last line of this chapter. Batman and Robin investigate Marghetta's residence for leads in the investigation. Enjoy.**

Anthony Marghetta is not at home when we reach his listed residence. The townhouse is at least one-hundred-and-fifty years old and in immaculate condition with no exploitable entry points at all. We elect to lock pick the rear door, mindful of the advanced home security systems these houses tend to have installed. I tell Robin to fix this problem for me and the boy disappears onto the roof for several minutes. Meanwhile, I manage to successfully unlock the five tumbler lock with my specialist tools and open the door to silence. A moment later, the boy is by my side.

"Where did you drop the jammer?" I inquire as we step inside the darkened house and employ micro light torches to guide our feet. We opt for infrared light to reduce our visibility from the street.

"Straight down the chimney, a Santa Claus special." From what I understand of a typical Gotham townhouse structure, the main lounge area and therefore the fireplace are located on the first floor, directly above us. The jamming field only provides a bubble of roughly twenty metres in all possible directions and is therefore just short of covering us completely from electronic tagging. We need to leave no evidence we were here; Marghetta has not been confirmed as the assassin and, without evidence, we must assume he is innocent until proven otherwise. Therefore I cannot employ a batarang to disable the system's power box which is the most effective solution. I consider.

"The control box near the front door needs disabling. Do you have any more jammers?" I ask my partner. Robin fumbles around in his belt and produces just one further portable jamming device. "We need to throw the jammer as that it sticks to the outside of the box. Without precise placement, the jammer will be ineffective and potentially trip the alarm. Do you have any sort of adhesive?" Again my partner searches his equipment and shakes his head.

"No, only sticky bombs. I take it you got zip too?"

"I did not anticipate encountering this system with our usual suspects. I had prepared for a homemade bomb or crude booby trap. Are you sure you have nothing?" I check. Robin considers.

"I got bubble gum." The boy says in a joking voice. I am about to tell him once again to not fill his pouches with non-mission essential kit before an idea strikes me.

"What brand is it?"

"Gotham Big Chew."

"Is that the same brand you managed to line the inside of your jean pockets with last year?"

"You wanna use the gum to stick it on the box? Think it'll hold?" He asks having guessed my plan. I smirk.

"It's still in your pockets isn't it?" The boy smirks back.

"Okay, I'm game."

I wait for a couple of minutes while Robin indulges in his little habit of blowing bubbles before he deems it chewed enough to stick. I shine my light on his hands while he fixes the two elements together and then aim it at the precise spot requires for the box to be rendered immaterial. The boy does not even take a moment to aim, throwing it straight away. We watch it smack against the spot and wait. Several seconds pass. The gum stays strong and we are free of tagging.

"You search the ground floor and I will check the first floor. Maintain radio communication at all times. If anyone approaches the house, stay in cover."

"No problemo, Boss. Looking for anything in particular?"

"Any link to the homicides whatsoever: knowledge of the victims, forensic evidence taken from the murder scenes, equipment utilized by the Black Talon. You know the procedure by now, don't you?"

"I gotcha." He replies as we separate. I ascend the stairs and begin in Marghetta's bedroom. Various bills I find in the bedside table confirm Marghetta's residency at this address and date back to only a month ago, roughly the same time as Mitchum's murder in Upper East Gotham. This is nothing more than coincidence, but is still suspicious. I move on to the closet. I find the usual array of clothing and shoes, some miscellaneous shoe boxes and oddly a teddy bear. Due to the out-of-place nature of the bear, I inspect it first. A brief search reveals there is something solid and angular inside it, possibly a USB or other storage device. Further scrutiny shows that the bear has been re-stitched. Taking the scalpel from my bomb disposal kit, I cut a three-inch incision along its main seam and utilise pliers to remove the embedded object. It is a data storage device, unmarked and less than eight gigabytes due to its small size, but definitely evidence enough to suggest some criminal activity is taking place.

"_Hello Batman, this is Robin, message over."_ My partner says over the radio link.

"This is Batman, send over."

"_I found a couple sniper rifle rounds under the sofa. They look like they might be a match for the shell recovered from the sniper's nest."_

"Are they used?"

"_Nope, probably rolled under there while they were stockpiling ammunition." _

"I've located a memory device. From where it was concealed, I believe it may be of strategic importance."

"_Doesn't this feel like a set-up to you? This is all pretty easy going for someone supposedly as sophisticated as The Black Talon."_

"I am getting the sense that Marghetta is being utilized as some kind of scapegoat for the real assassin. If so and the killer can afford to house a recently-released criminal in this kind of luxury as an insurance policy, we are definitely dealing with someone of considerable means."

"_So we get Marghetta to sing?"_

"No. The likelihood of Marghetta knowing his beneficiary's name or address is remote at best; the man is a known as a loudmouth. We need to trace the owner of the property and go from there."

"_What about Marghetta? We just going to leave him?"_

"We've got a lead. That's enough. Marghetta isn't causing trouble, not yet anyway. Let's go. Take the rounds with you and collect the jammer from the box. Meet me outside near the car in three minutes." I say whilst re-stitching the bear before replacing it in the closet.

"_See you in three, big guy."_

I wander through to the lounge to collect the other jammer. Clipping it onto my utility belt grants me protection from the security system whilst exiting the house. I pocket the storage device, force open the window and use a nearby bush to cushion my fall. Without the jamming field in place, the open window is detected by the system and alarms begin to howl into the night. I quietly leave the scene and arrive back at the car before there is even a flicker of action from neighbours to combat the perceived threat. Robin is already sat on the bonnet when I approach and playing with the rounds in his palm.

"Did you really just set off the burglar alarm?" He asks grinning at me.

"Perhaps. Did you really run into the back door trying to get here before me?" I inquire noting the fresh lump on the side of his head. The boy blushes in embarrassment.

"Maybe. Is it really noticeable?" He says. I gesture to the passenger door.

"Get in now and maybe Alfred can limit the cosmetic damage."

We get back to the cave less than twenty minutes later. Robin receives a suitably sized icepack to help reduce the swelling whilst I begin to examine the storage device. After patching it into the main computer terminal and finding no encryption protocols blocking access to the information contained, I know Marghetta is nothing but a pawn for the real Talon. The information supplied is a comprehensive list of targets and execution dates. Mitchum and Hennessy are already dead, leaving an additional six targets left to assassinate. According to the dates listed, all these hits are to be completed within the next two weeks. There is only one reason I can think of for having such advanced notice of the intended targets available on this device; Talon does not expect Marghetta to be implicated or rather, will not _allow_ him to be implicated in the crimes until their completion and is therefore planting relevant evidence in advance. This is their biggest mistake.

The next hit is scheduled to be conducted tomorrow afternoon and targets Simon Webber, a former deputy mayor of Gotham. If I remember rightly, he was forced to resign from office due to mass rumours of corruption. Correlations between the previous victims have already been investigated thoroughly and yielded only one common factor; both men had to resign from their respective positions due to corruption allegations or face indictment charges. Due to their offices of government overlapping and the fact they were both in those offices around the same time period; I assumed it related to the crime lord Alexander Fitch who often bribed officials to look the other way. The puzzling part was that Fitch has been dead for six years, killed in a shoot-out with police in a neighbouring state and that both victims had been out of office for almost fifteen years. It made little sense to pursue that avenue at the time, but now with this list it seems more relevant than ever to explore the possibility.

"So, got a theory, big guy?" Robin says drawing up alongside me. He has the icepack firmly pressed against his self-inflicted injury. I smile.

"I am formulating one presently. Have you had a chance to analyse the rounds you recovered?" The boy emits a deflated sigh whilst leaning against the side of my chair.

"I checked them for fingerprints. Only ones on them are Marghetta's. This guy's good at framing people huh?"

Yes, Talon does seem quite proficient at the art. However, their arrogance will prove very damaging. If these files are an accurate breakdown of the intended sequence of coming murders, all I have to do is analyse the individuals being targeted, find the patterns and make the connections. Once that is completed, I will have all the intelligence I need to stop them definitively. The only reason I do not communicate this to the boy is because I wish to know his opinion on the matter without my comments steering him. "What do you think of this case?" I say turning my head to look at him. His green eyes flicker for a few minutes as he assimilates the information on the screen to help him theorise. When he is happy he starts.

"There's corrupt officials, dead corrupt officials and some kind of rich guy picking them off one by one." Robin begins, merely articulating the basic facts of the investigation. He considers carefully. "You know it's kind of like The Count of Monte Cristo. A slighted man gains a fortune and then exacts revenge for those responsible for his fall from grace. We're studying it in English at the moment; it's pretty cool." I must admit to not having factored Dumas's classical tale into my analysis, but now it has been mentioned, there are certain similarities that may have some merit in pursuing further. I am again reminded of why the boy is an asset in this line of work; a fresh spin on a tired thread and a unique way of seeing the world. I nod in satisfaction.

"Not a bad parallel to make. How's your head?"

The boy pulls away the icepack briefly to show me the purple lump prominently displayed a few inches above his left eye. "I really didn't need to run; I'm always going to be quicker than you." He replies shooting me a sly grin before replacing the pack.

"Until you break your leg trying to race me to the dinner table." I retort with a wry smile of my own.

"I could still beat you." He maintains only for me to shake his head.

"No, you couldn't." I tell him. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head too.

"No, I couldn't. Do you need me for anything else tonight, Boss?"

"No, get yourself to bed. You've earned it."

"And you?"

"I've got work to do before tomorrow evening." He knows this means I will be sat here for the next few hours and nods in understanding before pushing himself away from my chair. He does not like it, but he understands it is what I need to do.

"Well, don't stay up too late. Night Bruce." He says with an amicable smile before walking away. I manage a response before I am too engrossed in the work before me to notice anything else.

"Goodnight Dick."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: One more chapter of this to go. May write more if well received. Enjoy.**

**Robin 3**

Today Simon Webber is supposed to be assassinated by the Black Talon. Webber is still trying to carve out a career as a politician despite poor public opinion polls and an inherent lack of support. This is why he is making a speech at City Hall this afternoon, one that will announce his intentions to prove himself a reliable by running for election as a member of Gotham's city council. How he plans to achieve such a swing in support or what position he is attempting to install himself in are unknown at present. Currently I am in the office of the incumbent deputy mayor, Wesley Marsh, to offer to stage a fundraiser for his and the mayor's reelection to a third term. I sport a formal grey business suit with a muted red tie to project the right amount of professionalism to my companion. Marsh is young man of around thirty and highly ambitious in his visions for Gotham. Beneath his boyish exterior I have always sensed a tremendous amount of nervous energy, the kind that always hangs its owner in a precarious balance between lasting greatness and utter ruin. Marsh is very receptive to my proposal.

"It's wonderful of you to offer your support Bruce." He tells me with an appreciative smile, "It would almost be certain to boost our chances if we had a benefactor such as you standing behind us." I smile back.

"Well I do so admire your work in this city, Wesley, you and John both. I can't think of anybody else I'd rather have in this city's future in the hands of. Plus, your aide makes some really spectacular coffee." I reply raising my cup in the young aide's direction with a nod of satisfaction. The aide, a boy of eighteen or so, smiles at the compliment. I do of course have ulterior motives for visiting City Hall today. Due to the assassination taking place during daylight hours and likely to occur within the immediate vicinity of this building, Bruce Wayne's annual pledge of support to John Greene and Wesley Marsh's continuing partnership is a perfect cover for reconnaissance.

Since arriving here an hour ago, I have identified and discredited thirteen separate vantage points surrounding the area where the speech is to be delivered from. The Black Talon does not prefer utilizing a high-caliber weapon system such as a sniper rifle: they prefer a close kill. Since it will still be light when Webber begins his speech, it is more likely the assassin will try and murder him either prior to or after the speech's delivery within the confines of the building itself. Therefore I have purposely lost my way to the bathroom twice in mapping City Hall's two-floor layout and potential areas to successfully carry out a hit unseen by either security cameras or other personnel.

Unfortunately my efforts last night did not yield an identification of a credible suspect for being the Talon. I have however uncovered evidence that suggests as Dick alluded to that this is a personal vendetta. The nature of the previous murders and the list of targets lean towards the theory that the killer is a victim of the corrupt officials and violent gangsters acting as puppet masters, including Fitch. Since there are too many victims of the widespread corruption to pinpoint a single standout case, I am almost certain such violent acts of vengeance can only stem from the murders of loved ones. The Talon has lost family or dear friends due to the greed of those individuals on the hit list. For Marghetta to be the scapegoat in this scenario, he must hold the most responsibility for the crimes committed as he will certainly suffer the greatest price: with a serial killer label over his head and life imprisonment in Blackgate, he will be dead within six months.

As I shake hands with Marsh and prepare to take my leave, I am drawn to something strange about his aide. There is an almost imperceptible outline of something in his left trouser pocket that matches that of a prison-styled shiv. It is a perfect weapon for a close-quarter kill, likely made out of plastic to pass through the building's metal detectors and only used when the issue is of a personal nature. It is, in short, the ideal tool to assassinate somebody in private. I cannot be certain that the item is indeed a shiv but I can discount the aide's involvement with a quick background check. First I need a name.

"Excuse me, young man." I say approaching the teenager, "I really did enjoy your coffee. What's your name?" I angle myself into a position to discreetly glance into his pocket. It is a shiv. The aide has a serious look of contemplation on his face, one I recognize from my own childhood. It is that of someone who broods over the past and does not see the future through the darkness.

"Alex Deacon, Sir." He answers with a forced smile. I offer my hand which he takes in his own with a grip that is both firm and strong. It is a sign of developed strength, not natural ability. I smile back.

"A pleasure." I say before letting go. "What do you think of Mr. Webber's intentions to run for an office position? I know Wesley isn't too thrilled." I say to gage his reactions. He just shrugs.

"It's not my place to say, Sir. I'm just the guy who makes the coffee."

"Fair enough. Nice talking to you, Mr. Deacon." I leave the office, put on my black top coat and am on my private radio link moments later.

"_Hello?" _Dick's voice asks as I walk towards the staircase.

"It's me. I need you to run a background check on an Alex Deacon for me." I tell him leaning on the guardrail as a group of students from a middle school wander across the lobby below led by a strict tour guide.

"_You know I'm in school, right?"_ Dick reminds me. I am aware.

"Yes, it's your field trip to City Hall for Civics class, isn't it?" I say whilst continuing to watch the students stand and listen as a brief history of the building is being delivered. One boy in black slacks and a sweater vest looks distracted by something in his ear.

"_Yeah. Aren't you at home?"_

"Look up." The boy looks up and his green eyes meet mine. The swelling on his head is less noticeable than yesterday. I wave to Dick from my vantage point. He smirks at me.

"_You planned this, didn't you?"_

"I knew I'd need you at some point today. Bruce Wayne certainly cannot be seen doing illegal searches in City Hall. I need you to run that background check in the next ten minutes." Dick slowly edges away from the rest of the group so he is not overheard. He averts his eyes from mine and pretends to look at the tour guide.

"_I need a computer terminal."_

"So find one."

"_And what? I need someone's account to hack the files."_

"So find someone."

"_What if…"_

"Dick, a man's life is at stake. I need to make sure I'm right before I act." I watch him consider for almost four seconds before replying with confidence.

"_Meet me outside in five minutes."_

"And the name is?"

"_Alex Deacon."_

I terminate the channel and turn without watching him leave. I check my watch: 13:39. Somehow time has grown short. Simon Webber is due to commence his address in less than twenty minutes. My prime suspect, Alex Deacon may or may not be the Talon. It is also conceivable he may be an accomplice, a puppet or on a mission entirely unrelated to that of the assassin. In any case, he is a potential threat to somebody in this environment and must be stopped. Dick is an exemplary student of computer hacking. By the time I am approaching the main entrance, two minutes and forty-five seconds have elapsed. The boy should have gained access to a private account, located the personnel files of all employees in the building, found Deacon's profile and committed the majority of the details to memory. The remaining time should be spent covering his tracks, enabling the firewalls he has taken offline and exiting the room the terminal is in unseen.

I step outside and find Webber and his small entourage already in the process of setting up the podium and audio equipment. A large contingent of media and tabloid journalists are gathering in front of the podium, testing cameras and ear pieces for television coverage. There are too many witnesses for the Talon to strike prior to the speech: someone will notice Webber's absence immediately. The Talon will launch an attack after the address when Webber goes inside the office for a short breather and inevitable meeting with Greene and Marsh to tell them his intentions personally. He will use a distraction to lose Webber's escort then drag him to the room on the immediate right of the main lobby in a camera black spot. Once there, the assassin will make the kill with a silent weapon, likely blade or equivalent to the carotid artery or simply the throat, before exiting through the rear door where a design flaw leads them out into a narrow works access corridor. They will follow the corridor to the fire exit, having disabled the camera and alarm, and disappear into the alleyways. Execution of this plan can be achieved in less than thirty seconds if efficient. The Talon will need to be in position shortly.

"Alex Deacon is an orphan." Dick says coming up at my side. "His parents were killed when he was eleven by unknown gangsters. Webber covered up the fact it was Finch." I look at him.

"That's not in his personnel file." The boy nods his head.

"You're right, but I managed to access his social media profile. He's a conspiracy nut job. He thinks Fitch secretly ran the mayor's office seven years ago and killed his parents over unsettled debts." I nod my head in understanding whilst looking back at the crowds.

"He's right."

"Did Webber cover up Fitch's involvement in unsolved murders across the city?" I am aware Dick is looking at me. I forget he is young: duplicity and its neighbours are not yet part of his generic opinion of people despite the cynicism he has witnessed as Robin. Everybody is two-faced even if it is a subconscious action. I do not return his gaze when answering.

"It was never proven."

"Do you believe it?" He asks. I nod whilst turning to look at the expression on his face: he is troubled by my response. Perhaps he wonders why I allow such a man to walk free if his crimes are so vile. Perhaps he thinks I am fallible, that Webber has somehow defeated my attempts to catch him. More likely he is still trying to make sense of what he has just been told.

"I know it's true." I tell him. I consider an anomaly in his brief. "How did you access his social media profile? It would take an additional two minutes to hack that particular type of coding." Dick shrugs.

"I guessed his password."

"And?"

"It was Simon Webber, all one word." I sigh as the boy poses the obvious question.

"Is Deacon the Talon?"

"No, just someone they have recruited to act on their behalf."

"How do you know? How do you know he's not just a solitary maniac out for blood?" I would inform him I have a gut instinct on the matter, just from our brief meeting, but there is a better way to validate my suspicions. I quiz the boy on what he saw.

"When did he gain employment in City Hall?"

"Last year."

"How?"

"He was given an internship."

"On what merits?"

"Uh, some scholarship program from Gotham City College."

"The name of this program?"

"The Bird-Schwarz Award Scheme it said." I turn to him and narrow my eyes. He still has not quite pieced it together. I coax him gently.

"Schwarz is German for?"

"Black."

"And a bird has?" Dick closes his eyes in realization at the link staring him in the face. He nods before responding.

"Talons."

"Coincidence?" I ask. The boy opens his eyes and shakes his head.

"No."

"Internship as an aide in the _deputy_ mayor's office: is that a coincidence?" I say, knowing he is aware Webber held that same position. The office will hold all private files on Webber's tenure in power. Dick is seeing the patterns emerge, the opportunities presenting themselves for someone of Deacon's mindset. He gives the right answer.

"No."

"Has he been recruited as a triggerman by the Black Talon?" I say. He sighs in a combination of disappointment and sadness.

"Yes." I know he is upset that a boy not much older than himself with similar tragedies has turned down a dark path. He does not wish such a fate on anybody, an attitude that does him enormous credit, given that his own dark moments would have numbed the compassion of any other person, myself included. I pat him genially on the shoulder.

"Good boy."

"Can't we help him?" He says with eyes that beg me to act kindly. I am moved but not to a different action. I must be harsh.

"Not now. Right now, all we can do is stop him from a life sentence for manslaughter."

"Do you need my help?"

"Keep an eye on Webber while I deal with Deacon."

"You won't hurt him will you?" He asks with genuine concern. I am lucky to have such a child to call my own. I know that his heart is always in the right place. I put a hand on the back of his neck and gently squeeze it in assurance of what I say next.

"No. I will merely prevent him from causing harm."

"Okay."

"Are you enjoying your day out?" I inquire in a hope to lift his spirits. I know it is unlikely to work but Alfred said it is important I make small talk whenever possible. He shrugs.

"I was."

"We'll talk later." I say removing my hand and turning back into the lobby. I turn into the room on the immediate right inside the building, close the door and wait. Fifteen minutes pass before Deacon assumes his position by the entrance. Everybody else has cleared outside to hear the speech. He thinks he is alone. I see a gas grenade in his hand, the distraction I theorized on earlier. It appears to be military issue and is at least twenty years old. Perhaps it belonged to his father. I wait. People are beginning to file in. Webber's speech has concluded. I wait for his approach with Deacon. He comes into view, flanked by a two-man security detail. Deacon pulls the pin and throws. The cloud coverage is almost instantaneous and the teenager is quick to act by grabbing Webber. He drags him towards the door I am standing by. I wait for it to open. As soon as it does, I slam it back in Deacon's face, knocking him out cold in the process. Webber breaks free of Deacon's grip as I use his planned escape route to get to the alleyways outside. As I round the corner and emerge back into the street, I see armed police already streaming into the building. The situation is contained, for now.

Deacon may have been a dead-end, but the Bird-Schwarz Award Scheme Dick mentioned is a definitive lead to follow. Webber will be monitored by a police detachment for the next few days when Deacon's shiv is discovered. This buys me the time I need to investigate the scheme and hopefully find the actual Talon instead of his minions before he attempts the hit on Webber himself. Satisfied with today's outcome, I pull out my cellphone. I dial one of my contacts and wait to be connected.

"_Hello?"_

"Hello Dick. I take it you're being taken back to Bristol Middle School now?"

"_Yeah, Deacon's being taken into custody now. I guess the field trip's over."_

"I'm sorry to have spoiled your day."

"_Don't be. You prevented a murder."_

"_We_ prevented it. I'll pick you up from school in an hour, okay?"

"_You don't have to."_

"I want to. It's important that we talk about what's happened."

"_Okay…thanks Bruce."_

"See you soon."


End file.
